Settlers of Talrega
by ancazur
Summary: Commander Shiharam vowed to start a new life in Daein, for his men and for his family. But long after his defeat, those he left behind still struggle with his absence. He built the foundation of love and family, but it is up to his survivors to construct the life he only dreamed of.
1. Part 1

Part One

The year 627

_Shiharam_

It wasn't until he ascended to the sky, far from Daein Keep, that Shiharam felt he could breathe again. He watched the scout below, following his lead as they traveled east. Back in Begnion, he had heard rumors of the ruthless King Ashnard. Shiharam knew he took advantage of being the only living heir. He knew that most of the Four Riders had retired or disappeared when he came to power. He knew that he tested his men's worth by throwing them into a pack of angry laguz.

Sub-humans. He had to call them _sub-humans_ now.

But despite the rumored horrors—rumors he knew to be true—Daein was a better home compared to the corruption of Begnion, for him and for his men. For his daughter.

King Ashnard was worse than he had imagined. He wondered, not for the first time, why they were permitted to serve Daein at all, clearly being deserters of their homeland. But militiamen throughout Tellius knew the facts—Ashnard would accept anyone into his service, beorc or not, if he was strong enough. If he could give glory to Daein. Shiharam was unsure what kind of glory they could bring so far from civilization, but he'd take what he could get.

He glanced back at his battalion. They had followed willingly, risking their lives to escape Begnion. Many had families who would soon join them, once they sent notice of their new home. But Jill had to come along. He had no choice; he had no remaining family to watch her.

He smiled when he spotted his daughter's bright red hair, so similar to his own. She had insisted on riding with Haar. He was a good sport about it, even if Shiharam was anxious he would fall asleep at the reins.

The scout below waved, and Shiharam signaled his men to set down on the barren land. They were outside a small military camp; a little ways down the road was the town. A few residents poked their heads out of doorways, obviously curious about the newly-arrived Begnion fleet.

"This is it?" Shiharam asked, once he dismounted.

"This is Talrega," the scout answered. He motioned to a wooded area beyond the camp. "Those woods are where the sub-humans like to come through. Think they can get past us by sneaking through the north." He scoffed. "General Petrine gave you her orders?"

"Yes," Shiharam replied. "Eradicate the sub-humans." He felt sick using the term. "Sir, could you find out when my men will receive Daein uniforms? I'm afraid we won't be welcomed in this." He looked down at his red Begnion armor.

"Yes, sir." But Shiharam wondered if he even heard, for the scout was already steering his horse away. He sighed, watching his men chat amiably amongst themselves as they dismounted.

"Daddy!" Jill weaved through the soldiers' legs, beaming as she bounded toward him. Haar was not far behind, though he had a more difficult time squeezing through the crowd.

"Forgive me, commander," Haar said. "She slipped away..."

"No matter." Shiharam smiled, crouching to pick up his daughter. _Already so big_, he thought, setting her on his hip. Her wavy hair was wild, sticking up in all directions from the long flight. He tried to pat it down but it was beyond tangled, and she wouldn't hold still.

Jill may have been only two years old, but she was quick as a whip. She absorbed everything around her, speaking and understanding complete sentences. She knew what she liked, and her opinion was unwavering. _So much like her mother_.

"This is my new home?" Jill asked, looking up at the camp. He couldn't tell if she was disappointed. There wasn't much to see.

"That's right," Shiharam said.

"Can I stay with Mr. Haar?"

Haar coughed, a failed attempt to hide a laugh, and Shiharam feigned disappointment as he frowned. "You don't want to live with daddy? That hurts."

She looked back and forth between the two, chewing on her thumb, as if seriously considering an answer. "I will live with daddy _and_ Mr. Haar."

"Will you now?" Shiharam tickled her stomach, which threw her into a fit of giggles.

The men quickly learned that the base was run-down and abandoned, but he was determined that their morale not match the atmosphere. They set to work on repairs at once, replacing splintered doors and disposing of the animal nests that had gathered in the rooms. Shiharam wondered when the last time this base was occupied. He wondered if the residents of Talrega had ever felt safe.

He had to stop thinking of them like they were separate from himself. He, too, was now a resident of Talrega. A citizen of Daein.

The villagers were quick to aid in the restoration, grateful for the military representation in their town. The mill keeper showed them the best wood to use, as the native flora was much different than that in the much-warmer climate of Begnion. The hunters informed them, too, of the local game; their first order of business was obtaining decent outerwear for the colder months.

"It always feels like winter up here," one of the hunters said, "and I'm born and raised." He puffed up his chest, proud to have survived the long Daein winters. But some of Shiharam's men grew anxious. He suspected that the cold wasn't as bad as the locals made it out to be, but he let his men believe the rumors regardless. Better be prepared.

Shiharam didn't worry about Jill at all, because most of his men acted like a surrogate father when she was around. She loved sitting on a wyvern, though the creature probably didn't notice the small weight on his back. She also busied herself with clean-up, carrying small piles of brush back-and-forth to the woods with the soldiers. Shiharam didn't want to admit it, but even at two years old she looked like a little lady.

General Petrine didn't waste time giving orders. Shiharam hadn't expected her to show up in person, but—from the little he understood of her—he gathered she wanted to see how well they were settling in. Or _not_ settling, if that was the case.

He was grateful they had set up base right away, because he secretly reveled in the look of disappointment on her face over its improved conditions.

"Enjoying this backwater country, are you?" she spat, dismounting her horse.

"It is more than we deserve," Shiharam replied.

"Ha! And His Majesty said you'd be a bunch of stupid foreigners!"

He fought to hold his tongue. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Don't think I'm staying," she said, deliberately bumping his arm when she passed by. He glared when her back was turned. "I am here to give your orders directly and have no plans to return, if I can help it." Shiharam followed her around base as she peeked into windows, sneering at the happy soldiers inside. "You are to organize sub-human hunts."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me!" She whipped around to face him. "That is your duty back here, is it not? Sub-human hunts. Daein is teeming with them, and it's disgusting. You will search and kill them all."

"Yes, General."

It troubled Shiharam how easily he accepted the orders. But he was a soldier through and through, and soldiers obeyed their superiors. Every day he spoke to the villagers, and every day he heard the fear in their voices over the attacking sub-humans—even though he had yet to see a laguz anywhere.

General Petrine was good on her word, and did not stay long. It was not until she had whipped her horse, bolting out of town borders, that Haar emerged from a nearby home.

"That is one beast of a woman," he said lazily.

"I am her subordinate." Shiharam massaged the bridge of his nose. "Haar, you heard her instruction, I presume."

"Yes, Commander. I will follow through."

On the surface Haar was the laziest soldier to ever enlist, but the boy was good on the battlefield. He was only seventeen, but he was strong and loyal. There were times, too, that he subtly put his commander in place. It was Shiharam's downfall—he got too emotional; he let things get personal.

He had climbed the ranks quickly. He had been one of the youngest commanders of the Begnion dracoknights, elevating to his position only last year at twenty-five. He tried not to show favoritism among his subordinates. But there was no denying he had a particular fondness for the one-eyed soldier, just as his daughter did. Perhaps it was because Haar boasted youngest in his battalion, and it reminded him of himself. The thought brought a smile to his face. No, he hadn't been that lazy when he was his age. He would not have the position he did if he took quite so many naps.

"Commander!" One of his men bolted toward him, red-faced and disheveled. He seemed to have forgotten himself as he ran with his lance under his arm, its deadly spear pointed outward.

"Soldier!" Shiharam shouted. "Watch it!"

He slid to a stop, fumbling with the lance before it fell to the ground with a thud. Shiharam sighed. "Sorry, Commander! I have to speak with you! Haar is saying we have to kill _laguz_!" Haar calmly strode up behind him, looking bored.

"We are in Daein now," Shiharam said, fighting to keep his voice even, "and we will live by Daein's rules. We have been commanded to eradicate the sub-humans, and eradicate them we will."

"Commander..."

"I know you're not questioning your superior," Haar said with a yawn.

"And who are _you_ to question _me_, you young pup?" the soldier spat back.

"Haar has received orders directly from me," Shiharam said, "and you will obey him. His word shall be my own."

Only Shiharam could sense that his words had an unexpected effect on Haar. When he turned away with the solider his walk was a little firmer, his shoulders a little straighter. Shiharam supposed he had just given him a promotion, but that was a matter for another time. He had other things on his mind.

Jill teetered around the group that Haar was commanding, and though she seemed to pay no attention he knew she absorbed every word. _You are in Daein now. Sub-humans are the enemy. Bring glory to Daein. We must prove ourselves worthy. _He looked away. He had to find his captains. He had to give his orders.

Talrega was silent come nightfall. It was too cold to go visiting after supper, so most residents remained huddled around a fire in their homes. Shiharam sat at his old, battered desk, a moth-eaten quilt draped over his shoulders. One of the village elders had left it with him, apologizing she could not provide something better, but he was grateful for the warmth. Many of the older women showed compassion; he only accepted their generosity because of Jill. He glanced at the floor beside the desk. She didn't yet have a proper mattress, but she was content cocooning herself in a mound of quilts to sleep. She hugged a ragged stuffed animal—he assumed it was once a rabbit—that she had received as a gift from one of the town matrons. Shiharam didn't want to depend on their gifts, but he couldn't deny that these little things made life slightly more bearable for them both.

There was a knock on the front door and he quickly answered, surprised to see Haar standing at the threshold. Haar was the sort to get to bed as soon as the work was done, not to be seen again until long after breakfast. He still wore his armor.

"Commander."

Shiharam pressed a finger to his lips as he ushered him inside, jerking his head in Jill's direction. She curled her body tighter as a rush of cold air swept through the open door, but didn't wake.

"If this is a bad time..." Haar whispered.

"Not at all," he said, but kept his voice low.

"Commander, I..." He paused. It was seldom that Haar was at a loss for words, and Shiharam didn't know how to respond to his stumbling. "Your orders," he finally said. "I don't mean to question them, but I'm confused why you would have me direct my superiors."

That _was_ what had happened, wasn't it? The words rang in his head, and he still wondered where they had come from. _His word shall be my own_. "You are a capable soldier, Haar. I thought... no, I hoped... that our friendship had surpassed that of commander and subordinate." But he couldn't look at Haar's face as he spoke. He stared at Jill instead, remembering their lavish home in Begnion, remembering his wife's funeral. Remembering how Haar had offered to watch his infant rather than attend the funeral himself. Remembering how he came home to her crawling around buck naked because Haar didn't know how to pin a diaper. Those days were a blur.

"Commander, with all due respect, the men will question your loyalties if you continue to show favoritism."

"That's why I have decided to promote you."

Haar's one eye widened. "Commander..."

"You have proven yourself time and time again to be a capable soldier. You did not question our motives when we left Begnion. You didn't even ask where we were headed."

"That didn't matter," Haar replied, defensively. "You are the most competent man I have served under—"

"And how many superiors have you _had_?" He smiled. Capable or not, he was still a boy.

But Haar ignored this. "—and I have no desire to work under anyone else. I follow because I believe in your ideals. I believe you will not steer us wrong."

"Is that so?" Despite his knowledge that Shiharam _had_ to obey, _had_ to go against his beliefs to live a better life? But Haar had been there when Petrine gave her orders, and he immediately complied when Shiharam commanded he relay the message. He finally met Haar's eye. He was clearly struggling to stay awake; it wasn't impossible for him to fall asleep standing up. Though even Shiharam himself was fighting sleep after a long, tedious day of work.

"So are you refusing your promotion?" He couldn't hold back a hint of amusement.

Haar snorted. It could have been a snore, jarring him awake. "No, sir."

"I trust that your sleep schedule will not interfere with your duty?"

"It never does, Commander." That much, he knew, was true.

"Good. Get some rest, Captain Haar. There is much to do tomorrow." But Haar was already halfway out the door before he finished speaking. Sleep was one command he could never question.

"You sure there are la— sub-humans out here, Commander?"

Shiharam was doubtful himself. He had taken a small group to circle the woods from above, while Haar commanded a group on foot below. It had been hours, and they had yet to see any _beorc_ in this area, let alone sub-humans. One of his soldiers had flown up beside him, questioning their presence there at all, and Shiharam had to keep his emotions in check. It would be easy to declare this a waste of time, but he couldn't return with no report at all…

Suddenly, from down within the trees, they heard a hissing screech.

"Hold your positions!" Shiharam shouted, when the wyverns began to descend. "Wait for the command!" But the command never came, and the woods went eerily quiet. He held up a hand, instructing the soldiers to wait, as he guided his beast into the forest.

The wyvern struggled going down through the densely-packed trees, thrashing his wings. Shiharam pulled at the reins, trying to calm him down. He wasn't particularly fond of this area himself, being so dark and dank, and his wyvern could sense his anxiety. But they both calmed once they hit the ground.

Haar came rushing through the brush; at the speed he ran Shiharam expected him to be panicked and injured, but there wasn't a scratch on him. "Commander Shiharam, you should see this."

Haar did not move as quickly on the way back, as if the presence of his commander eased his discomfort. When they approached the battalion, they were circled around something on the ground. Shiharam didn't have to see it to know what it was, but he pushed through the group regardless.

It wasn't like they have never seen a corpse before. But it was different, seeing the orange ears up close. The tail lying limply across his legs. He may have been unshifted, but there were still sharp claws protruding from his fingertips, as if he died before the transformation had been complete.

Shiharam closed his eyes. "Was this the only one?" he asked. The men looked at one another, silently pushing the job of spokesperson to someone else. When he opened his eyes, no one would look at him directly. "I _asked_ if this was the only one."

"No, commander," Haar said, stepping alongside him. "There were others, but they escaped."

He glanced sideways at Haar but the captain remained motionless, his head held high. Was it possible he had grown up overnight? Or had he just failed to notice? "Every day we will come to this area," Shiharam said slowly, looking at each soldier in turn, "and we will find them. Do we understand?"

A round of "yes, Commander," was issued in unison. Many of them still looked down at the fallen laguz. _Sub-human._

"Get rid of this thing," he said, turning from the corpse. A set of footsteps followed as he left the clearing, crunching over the fallen branches and leaves.

The soldiers were out of earshot before his companion spoke. "You put on quite a show, Commander," Haar said.

"Mmm." Shiharam climbed up on his wyvern.

"May I speak freely?" Haar asked suddenly, placing a hand on the beast's side, as if that would stop him from taking off. "Not as a subordinate, but as a friend."

Shiharam rubbed his wyvern's neck, feeling the rough skin grate against his palm. "Of course." But Haar hesitated before looking up. His usual lazy expression crossed his face, but there was a nervous shift in his demeanor. _Not as a subordinate._ He rarely thought of him as such, though he never admitted it aloud.

"I may not agree with Daein's rules, and I don't understand how King Ashnard works. But Begnion was brutal and corrupt, and I would rather be here in Daein with its questionable ideals."

"Haar—"

He cut him off. "I get why we're here. I understand why we have to hunt"—he winced—"sub-humans. I trust your judgment more than my own. I'm not here because I love Daein, Shiharam; I'm here because I vowed to serve under you. I will do what is expected for our survival. For your sake, and for Jill."

Haar had neglected to address him by title, but it was a minor fault. Hardly a fault at all; likely intentional. Shiharam thought back to their last days in Begnion. Who else would have stayed up with him through the night, planning the departure, making sure the families were kept informed? Who else would have allowed his baby to sit on his knee during meetings, when he could find no one to watch her? Who had Jill toddled to the day they left, stamping her foot until he relented and allowed her to travel with him? That journey already felt like long ago: Haar with one hand on the reins and the other around Jill's torso, crushing her against his body, her red hair flapping wildly in the wind.

To Haar's surprise Shiharam grasped his hand in both of his, squeezing tight. After a brief hesitation Haar placed his free hand over them, sealing the bond.

"You are"—Shiharam paused, swallowing hard—"my dearest friend."


	2. Part 2

Part Two

The year 646

_Jill_

_Home._ It was a strange word, being associated with a country she no longer felt a connection to. She watched for familiar landmarks as she flew overhead, the land only a remnant of the home she remembered. It was not long ago she had come to Talrega as a soldier. But she had shed that skin when King Ashnard was defeated. She returned a simple Daein girl. She didn't even carry a weapon.

Her heart twisted when she spied Talrega in the distance. It hadn't yet been restored after the flooding and the land was a dark, muddy brown. She wondered if it would ever be the same, this backwater town in a defeated country. Begnion would soon be on the move to occupy it. She prayed they would forget about Talrega. Better to be poor and dirty than under their rule.

The irony made her wince. She recalled bits and pieces of her father's tales growing up, about their escape from that corrupted country and a promise of a better life.

_Father._

The graveyard wasn't hard to spot; there was only one in town, beside the chapel. She landed in a field behind the cemetery, far from civilization, and trudged uphill until the gravestones came into sight. They were simple affairs. Many of the older ones were blank, their names eroded down from harsh winters. But the one she sought was fresh, easy to find, its engraving still new.

_Shiharam Fizzart_

_601 - 645_

Jill fell to her knees. She knitted her brows, willing the tears to fall, but her tears were spent. She had passed enough nights alone in her tent; she felt there was nothing left. The one place she wanted to cry, and she couldn't.

"Welcome home." She didn't look up; she knew that voice anywhere. From her peripheral vision she watched as his feet materialized beside her, and eventually he settled cross-legged in the dirt. She was glad that he decided to sit at her right. At least she could see his good eye from this angle, could tell if he had fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. Again. But his eye was wide open, staring at the headstone.

"This is my fault," Jill said, for lack of anything better to say. It was a stupid comment. During the war he told her time and time again that she couldn't be blamed. She unfolded her legs from beneath her, hugging them to her chest.

"Jill—"

"I know," she said, shaking her head. "You don't have to tell me again."

Haar stretched an arm behind him, and she expected it to settle across her shoulders. But it didn't. "You did what was right. Your father was proud of you; you formed your own set of values." He paused. "The right ones. You understand we couldn't do that for you, right? That there were things we couldn't do, living in this country?"

"Yes." But he hardly heard, her voice muffled in her folded arms.

"Before he died—"

"I don't really want to talk about it," she said abruptly, hugging her knees tighter. "Can we just... sit here a while?"

Haar nodded. "Of course."

She scooted over to rested her head on his shoulder. He had already removed his armor, and the worn fabric of his shirt was soft against her temple. Her own armor suddenly felt suffocating. She was dying to pull the breastplate off her chest, to release the straps around her thighs.

Jill was startled to feel an arm around her waist, the only place the armor didn't cover. Her exposed torso provided for increased mobility in battle, but she wondered now if it didn't have another purpose—a purpose after the war. Haar's hand hovered awkwardly at first, but he eventually tightened his grip to actually hold her, providing the comfort she needed. She smiled when the tears began to fall, groping for the hand on her waist. She was certain it would disappear the moment she started sobbing.

"Hey now," Haar said. "What are you... crud."

"No, it's okay," she said, wiping her stained cheek on his arm. She couldn't explain why she laced her fingers between his, but she liked the feel of his calloused hands against her skin. It was obvious who had been the soldier longer, who had fought more battles.

"Do you remember when first moved to Daein?" Haar asked, and she shook her head against his shoulder. He started talking about Begnion, when they saddled up for departure and she insisted on riding with him.

Jill didn't know much about their lives in Begnion. Her father didn't discuss it often, saying over and over that Daein was their home. But she picked up the pieces. There was a lingering sadness under the surface. Was he ever really happy in Daein? Had Begnion been all that bad? Having been to Begnion herself now, she started to understand his reasons for leaving. Ike and the Greil Mercenaries had exposed much of the senate's corruption, but she sensed this wasn't the end of it. Her father left Begnion so many years ago; surely it would take more than this to fix that country's wrongs.

Haar was telling a story of a ten-year-old Jill who was determined to go on her own sub-human hunt. The mental image of her younger self running around with a spear was amusing, but she felt guilty. She let go of his hand, and he stopped speaking. His use of the word _sub-human_ boiled within her, but she wasn't angry with him. She now understood what her father had been doing all those years as she was growing up.

She felt the weight of Haar's head on top of her own, and she was grateful that he had stopped telling stories. It wasn't like him, talking for the sake of talking. His hand dropped from her waist, and his body leaned heavily against hers. She didn't have to hear his light snoring to know he was asleep.

For once, she didn't mind. Jill scooted backward, slowly, grunting when the weight of his head fell onto her lap. She rested a hand on his clavicle, feeling the slight rise and fall of his breathing. He almost looked peaceful. She wished she could sleep.

He rolled over, facing toward the graveyard, slinging an arm around her legs like they were a pillow. She brushed the hair from his temple and was surprised by how soft it was. She desperately wanted to wash her own hair, still grimy from battle.

Jill craned her neck to look out at the main road. She could remember rushing down this road in her Sunday best, beating her father to chapel. Captain Haar would join them, though he fell asleep in service so often she wondered why he bothered. But it was a rare moment the captain didn't accompany her father, work-related or not. Haar had been with him until the end, until his final battle, before she witnessed his defeat.

She shook her head and unconsciously squeezed Haar's shoulder. He woke with a jolt.

"Jill? What is it?" He rolled over, seemingly unsurprised to be lying across her lap.

"Hmm? Nothing. Sorry to wake you."

He frowned. _Sorry to wake you?_ Ordinarily she would poke him in the side during one of his many afternoon naps, shouting in his ear to get up. But he said nothing as he sat upright, scratching the back of his head. "I assume you haven't eaten anything." She smiled slightly as she stood, brushing dirt from the back of her pants.

* * *

They received a hero's welcome, having survived the war. The town elders doted on Jill especially, reminiscing over how great a man her father was.

"By the goddess, I wish they'd stop reminding you all the time," Haar growled.

"It's fine, Captain," she would reply. "They need to talk about it, too."

"Will you _stop_ calling me Captain already?"

Once they were settled, they started up the wyvern delivery service Haar had mentioned during the war. Jill hadn't been certain it would happen, but it was a relief to have something to do during peacetime. There was no way she could sit around idly and stare at her father's grave all day. It was time to start a life, a _new_ life, just as her father had all those years ago.

Her home felt empty without him. His scent still lingered, the house having been shut up since his defeat. There were still papers strewn over the desk, and clothes in his closet. She stood in his bedroom doorway, staring at the pristinely-made bed. There wasn't much else in there. Whatever they had they shared, thus most of their belongings were stored in the common room. There was a knock on the front door, and she sealed off the bedroom before answering.

"Haar?" she said, opening the door. "Everything okay?"

His lips lifted in a half-smile. "Sure. Busy?"

She stared at his back as he passed by, at the contours of muscle beneath his shirt. He didn't wait for an invitation to take a seat, though she would have offered, anyway.

"Isn't this cutting into your sleep schedule?" Jill said, sitting across the table. She was only half-joking.

"Yeah." He yawned, the eye patch lifting slightly off his cheek. "Jill, I've been thinking." He paused, briefly. "It's stupid for you to live here alone. Come stay with me."

"Haar!" She sat up straighter, twisting her hands in her lap. "I..."

"Not like that," he quickly added, watching her cheeks flush. "I promised your father I would take care of you."

"So that's it, then?" She slouched. "A command from my father."

"At first," he said with a shrug. "But you know that's not all."

Suddenly she wanted to be back at the cemetery, visiting her father's grave, holding Haar's sleeping face in her lap. Guarding that grave had been their common bond. But now, staring at him across the table, she sensed he no longer saw her only as Commander Shiharam's daughter. Yes, she still was. She always would be. But during the war, she had become her own woman with her own view of the world. She had changed. But Haar was still here, still offering to protect her.

"I can't deny my father's orders," she said. "But I would like it better if you came here instead."

"Stubborn as always," he said with a smirk.

* * *

It was peculiar at first having Haar occupy her father's bedroom, but she was glad that they _had_ bedrooms. She would never have been able to sleep if they shared the same room. Her father may have been gone, but she still felt his presence. She wouldn't give up that house. When Jill returned home after the war she hadn't bothered to change anything, but Haar better understood the need to revamp it.

"I won't let you live in a dusty shrine," he had said, dumping old papers from the desk. Perhaps he was right.

They took turns with deliveries, so it was seldom they were home at the same time during the day. But she smiled as she tucked into bed at night, knowing he was nearby. Slowly, the heaviness of her father's absence began to dissolve as the house became hers—theirs.

When Haar was summoned for a delivery to Begnion, she was surprised how empty it felt without him. She had quickly grown accustomed to cooking for two, to coming home at night to him sleeping—whether he made it to his room or not. But the work didn't stop, and she kept herself busy transporting cargo across Talrega. She tried not to worry about his extended absence.

One morning, Jill found herself with a shipment to be delivered outside Talrega. She stared curiously at the packing label—_Nevassa_. Haar would usually manage the out-of-town orders, but he had yet to return from Begnion. It felt like ages since she had last visited Daein's capital, tracking down a king who had long deserted his country. But in a way, she _wanted_ to go to Nevassa. News of Begnion occupancy had reached all corners of Daein, and she was curious to see how much the city had changed. She smiled, preparing her beastie for the trip.

As much as she loved being home, there was nothing like the freedom of flight. As her beastie rose to the sky, she closed her eyes briefly. She squealed in delight as her heart dropped from the nervous excitement of blindness. Talrega was far below now, only a pinprick on the vast expanse of Daein soil.

She was determined not to stop for a break, but since the respite from the war her wyvern was unaccustomed to long trips. "You're getting lazy," she said with a laugh, stroking his neck. "Come on, beastie, let's take a rest." They set down in the first village she spotted.

Her wyvern curled up on the outskirts of the village, protecting the cargo. She had no plans to eat or make any stops at all; she was mostly curious to see how much had changed.

Even this far from the capital, it was obvious how much control Begnion had. There weren't too many foreign soldiers around, but it was enough to make Jill feel uneasy. Their presence made the village feel like another world, one outside Daein, even they were still within her borders. It felt eerily similar to being in Begnion proper. Jill had been a Daein girl all her life but _she_ suddenly felt like the foreigner, like she didn't belong there. She quickly turned back.

"Hey, you."

She hoped the rude command was not directed at her, but she knew she wouldn't be that lucky. A hand grabbed her arm.

"Excuse you!" She whipped around, jerking her arm from the soldier's grasp. A few surrounding villagers noticed the outburst, stopping to watch.

"I don't recognize your face," the soldier said, scrutinizing as he inched closer. "What is your business here?"

She backed up several steps, appalled by his close proximity. "I run a delivery service," she said venomously. "I'm making a _delivery._" She swept an arm to the village border, where her beastie watched them curiously. The villagers close by chuckled, but the soldier was too preoccupied staring her wyvern down to notice.

"I'll have to inspect that," he said, eying the cargo, but she stepped in front of him when he tried to advance.

"I am unauthorized to deliver this to anyone but its intended recipient."

"You're not _delivering_ it," the soldier said, "I said it was an _inspection_."

"And I said _no_."

Before he could grab for her again, she turned and bolted. It wasn't often she had to run; all her battles were in the air. She propelled herself forward, and she could hear the cheers of the villagers behind her. It mattered not that she wasn't a local—she was a proper Daein citizen. They would stick together.

Her wyvern was already prepared for flight before she jumped on, as if knowing his master needed to flee as soon as possible. Jill didn't even have time to grab the reins before they were in the air, scrambling for them as they whipped in the wind.

She laughed when she finally caught the reins. It was a stupid move, she knew. That soldier could have been a flyer as well, but he wasn't. She was blissfully alone. Jill rubbed the side of her wyvern in gratitude. "Let's get going," she said aloud. "Nevassa's going to be a lot of fun." He snorted.

Jill almost didn't recognize the capital from overhead.

She slowed down, hovering over Nevassa in search for a place to land, but was distracted by the crowded streets. She couldn't remember so many homeless before, or so many soldiers crawling the alleys. None were Daein militia, of course; she had expected as much. Even from up high, she could hear the shouting and berating of Begnion soldiers. She almost didn't want to set down, but finally found a spot to land at the end of an alleyway. She had work to do.

She peered down the narrow path when she jumped off her wyvern, but no one seemed to notice their arrival. It was unlikely anyone would bother her beastie here. She started to untie the shipment, but the sudden approach of footsteps made her tense up.

"Hey, Jill!"

She turned, surprised. "Zihark! Fancy seeing you here after all this time."

"Likewise!"

Jill's anxiety over being in Nevassa lessened when seeing the familiar face. She hadn't even known through most of the war that Zihark, too, was Daein born and bred. But how had he been so comfortable around the laguz, when they had had a similar upbringing? She never had a chance to ask.

"Decided to come back here on a whim," Zihark continued, helping her unpack the cargo. "How've you been?"

She smiled. "I'm just dropping off a few packages for Haar."

"Ha!" Zihark smirked. "How's the old man these days?"

Jill flushed as she turned away, wiping her hands on her pants. "He's fine." She pulled a stack of delivery papers from her bag, flipping through to confirm all was accounted for. Zihark peered over her shoulder.

"Say," he said, casually pacing around her, casting the occasional glance, "have you had the chance to look around?"

She avoided his eye, scanning the cargo list instead. "No... why?"

"Things are bad, Jill." He stopped pacing, standing so close beside her that their shoulders nearly touched. He kept his voice low. "It's worse here in Nevassa, but you can see it everywhere. Worse than they were with Ashnard, even."

She gripped the papers in both hands, creasing the sides of the pages. She sighed. "I know that."

He nudged her shoulder with his own, studying the side of her face. She didn't look up. "We could stop it."

She immediately thought of the soldier who harassed her, of viewing the dirty Nevassa slums from overhead. She was no fool; she knew what was happening. It wasn't likely to get any better, unless someone made a move to change it. She finally looked at Zihark, who was grinning expectedly. Was this all it took, two war buddies looking to start a revolution?

And her father, all those years ago, moving to Daein for a better life. But in some twisted way, Begnion had followed. Her blood pumped angrily in her veins.

She had to write a letter home. She didn't know the next time she would be there.

* * *

_A/N: Jill/Zihark dialogue used with permission from Krad-Eelav at deviantART, from her fan-comic Uprising. (You should read it.)_


	3. Part 3

Part Three

The year 652

_Haar_

_Yes, Commander Shiharam. Of course; there is nothing here for me. I will not work under anyone else … anything is better than serving those hot-headed senators._

"_Haar!_" A finger jabbed his shoulder, a mist of hot breath on his ear.

"What? I'm up."

"No, you're not!" Jill sat back on the floor cross-legged, where they had set up the parcels for distribution. He had only planned to rest for a minute...

"Hmm?" He sat up when he noticed the small boy standing in the doorway. It was one of the kids from town. "What is it?"

"Mr. Haar!" The boy bounced on the balls of his feet. "There's an envoy here to see you!"

Jill snickered as he rubbed his forehead, groaning. "Another one?"

Once the war had ended—and what a strange war it was, battling a _goddess_—Haar officially retired from combat. Enough was enough. But Queen Micaiah didn't seem to understand that. She continued to send messengers to Talrega, and the poor kids were continually sent away with the same reply: _No, I'm not returning to the army_. He was over forty years old. He had served various countries since he was fifteen, had participated in two major wars. He didn't want it anymore.

"Tell him to go away," Haar said, returning to the mess on the floor.

But the kid continued to bounce on his feet. "It's Queen Micaiah herself!"

He sighed. "Don't tell me you left the queen waiting in the cold, boy."

"It's not terribly cold, Sir Haar." Queen Micaiah appeared in the doorway. She and the boy exchanged a smile, and he giggled before running away.

Jill scrambled to her feet, bowing her head before the queen, but Haar couldn't be bothered to rise. Didn't it count for something that they had fought together? She may have a fancy title now, but he still saw her as the simple girl she was before. And so did she, if his memory hadn't failed him.

"I hope you didn't come all the way out here to talk me into working again," Haar said. "I would hate to see our fair queen waste her time."

Micaiah smiled. "Don't think you're that important," she replied, enjoying the banter. "I happened to be passing through, and thought I would pay some old friends a visit."

"And talk them into joining the army again."

She shrugged. "That would be a fortunate byproduct, I must admit."

Jill had already put the kettle on the hearth, heating water for tea. Haar stared down at the litter of cargo on the floor. Their table, too, was covered, a failed attempt to organize old receipts. Of course, now it meant their regal visitor had nowhere to set the cup of tea Jill handed to her. Such a good hostess, that girl.

Queen Micaiah was good on her word; she didn't remain long. Her presence was unsettling to Haar. There was the life of war, and there was the life at home, and the two were never meant to mingle. He denied her offer of a military position—again—and she did not press further. He was grateful when Jill walked her out; they chatted briefly out of earshot before she returned.

"Why do you always do that?" she huffed, slamming the door.

"Do what?"

"You could be a little nicer about saying no." She prepared another cup of tea, passing it to him before sitting back on the floor.

"Maybe she'll get it this time." The tea was mint, and he breathed it in deeply.

Jill sighed heavily and pushed a small stack of parcels toward him. "Come on, Haar. Let's finish this. We should get these deliveries out tomorrow."

He tried his best to not nap again; it would be nicer to finish the work and actually sleep in a bed. Jill sat close by, reaching over his lap for a delivery document. She could just have easily asked him to pass it, but he had to admit he liked her radiating warmth. Better than any cup of tea, anyway.

She peered up from the papers, catching his yawn. "Why don't you go to sleep," she said. "There's not much left. I can take care of it."

"You sure?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay? For a second, it sounded like you preferred work over sleep."

"Hmph." He stood, feeling his joints creak on the way up. "Good night, Jill." It was not until he closed the bedroom door that he heard her rustling around again. He leaned against the wall and sighed.

He flopped onto the bed in his clothes, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. This had been his commander's bedroom, all those years ago. Every day he thought of that battle, of sneaking into the Crimean camp to talk Jill out of fighting. At least she had listened. The last thing he wanted was for her to see her father in a losing fight. Shiharam had known, of course. _If we are defeated in the end, I want you to care for the survivors and their families._ His survivor. His family.

At some point he'd fallen asleep, because he woke to a blinding stream of sunlight. He stumbled out to find the main room empty, looking much larger than the previous night now that it was emptied of boxes. _What in blazes is she doing? _There was a note on the table.

_H- Didn't want to wake you. Taking care of the deliveries. Back soon. -J_

She didn't want to wake him? That was an unexpected change of pace.

He dropped the note back on the table, deciding it was time to take a walk into town.

The chilly morning air always helped. It was seldom he was awake this time of day—_or any time of day_, he thought—but there was something fresh and new about the early hours just after sunrise. He turned onto the main road, nodding to those who greeted him in passing, mechanically taking the route to the cemetery. No other visitors were there, for which he was grateful.

"Sorry I haven't been around," he said, sitting at Shiharam's grave. "I didn't even think to bring flowers or anything. Oh well, you don't care about that stuff, do you?"

It would be stupid to believe Shiharam could hear him, but his memory was fading with the passing years. Not his companionship or his lessons, but _him_. His personality; his smile. Coming here to talk brought him back, if only for a little while.

"Jill's grown in a fine young lady," he said, bowing his head. "Twenty-nine, can you believe it? Remember when she was a kid, and she wanted to come live with me?" He chuckled softly. "She got her wish, anyway. Not surprised, are you?"

It struck him suddenly how neat the grave was. The others were slightly overgrown: weeds crawling over the stones, bird droppings streaking their surfaces. Shiharam's still looked the same it did the day it was set in the ground. It hadn't been Haar. It had been months since he last visited, often preoccupied with other matters.

"Looks like she still takes care of you," he said with a sigh. "Goddess bless her."

"Haar?"

He craned his neck up, unsurprised. "Jill."

She set down a wrapped parcel from the market—presumably some sort of meat—before sitting beside him. Instinctively, she roped her arm through his.

"It's been a while since I've seen you here," she said.

"Guess I got busy. Do you visit a lot?"

"Not as much as I used to." She bit down on her lip, like she felt guilty. "Haar..." She hesitated. He recognized the tone in her voice, so similar to the one that had been playing in his head, over and over, the past few months. But try as he might, he couldn't put together the words that would follow. All his senses were aware of her arm in the crook of his elbow; her skin sweated slightly and she smelled like the grime of the market. She stood up suddenly, abandoning her thoughts, and gathered the parcel. "I'm going to head back."

He sat by the grave longer than he had intended. Making up for lost time, he supposed. But he had to leave. The flood of memories was going to drown him.

When he returned home, Jill had already started roasting the meat for dinner. He continued to marvel at their domesticity, like there was something normal about their arrangement. _She's the daughter of my dead teacher_. He shook his head.

"Welcome back," Jill said from the table. She had been writing something, and acted completely casual when she balled it up and tossed it into the fire. "I thought you had fallen asleep at the cemetery."

"I did." He sat across from her, feeling the heat of the hearth on his face. "Jill..." There it was, that tone of voice. "Is something the matter?" It was a cheap shot. Because he wasn't able to calm the voice in his head, he was putting her on the spot to do it.

"Hmm? No, everything's fine."

"What were you writing?"  
She looked into the fire, like it would offer a suggestion, like the parchment hadn't already singed. "Nothing in particular. I... thought I'd write to Zihark, but it wasn't coming out right."

_Zihark? _His pulse beat hard in his neck.

Jill hastily stood to flip the meat, prodding it with a fork to hoist it onto its back. Haar had cooked enough slabs of meat to know it was far too early to be messing with it. The underside was still pink, matching the color of Jill's cheeks.

"Haar..." She kept her back to him, overseasoning the meat. "Do you think... I mean... how do you feel about me?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he asked, buying time to make up the excuses. "You've been attached to me all your life. You know I care for you, Jill."

"And not just because of my father?" She turned to face him, after sprinkling far too much spice on the meat. His nostrils burned, even from a distance.

"This again?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You are not an obligation. I'm not a babysitter, fulfilling some duty of a man that's..." He stopped.

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he closed his eye. It was like her very life force rushed through him with that touch, creeping from his shoulder and into his chest. It intensified when she squeezed. "I know. I'm sorry."

She went outside, slamming the door behind her. Haar stared at the meat, then stood to scrape off the piled spices with a knife. He flipped it again and followed Jill outside.

She hadn't gone far. She sat beside the front door, leaning her head against the stone exterior. Haar stood in the threshold, arms crossed, the smell of meat wafting through the open door.

"I'm an old man," Haar said, staring aimlessly at the woods beyond. Jill looked up, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"No, you're not," she said.

"You really think that?"

"Yes." She hugged her knees to her chest. They remained silent for a while, listening to the soft whistle of a passing breeze. "I put too much spice on the meat," Jill said eventually.

He smirked. "I fixed it." He could tell by the slight strain of her jaw that she returned the smile.

"_I'm sorry, my old friend." Haar dangled off the side of his wyvern; they had flown too high, he couldn't see the land. Daein was down there, somewhere, and he thought maybe, if he let go, he could land on his feet, but he would be lost to his beastie forever..._

"_I'm here," said a voice below, close by. When he looked, it was through both eyes. The expanded view was a bright white, too blinding to see. "Let go."_

"_But Commander..."_

"Haar?" There was a gentle shove at his shoulder.

The sky faded. He opened an eye, disorientated by the sudden darkness. He could see the outline of a shadow beside him, could feel a hand on his arm. "Jill? It's the middle of the night."

"And you're asleep on the kitchen floor." He squinted as her face came into focus. "Are you... okay?"

She was kneeling on the floor, still wearing her day clothes. Her hair was out of its customary ponytail and it pooled around her legs, falling across his torso as she leaned over him. A strand tickled his hand, and he found himself weaving the lock between his fingers. It was softer than he imagined, like a child's.

_Like it was twenty years ago_. He tried to ignore the small voice within him.

"Hey," Jill said. She was still leaned over him, and he realized he hadn't said anything yet.

"Mmm." It was something.

He sat up and rubbed his shoulder, stiff from the hard wood floor. His other hand still held her hair and she watched as he weaved it through his fingers, slowly. When she looked up, her face inches from his own, he had trouble focusing due to its close proximity. He watched her eyes trace his features. He didn't fail to notice that they hesitated at his lips before looking up. _Goddess help me._

"Well," she said eventually, "I would've dragged you to your room myself, but thought it would be nicer to wake you up."

She continued talking. She said something, then there was a nervous giggle, and it was the middle of the night and her hand was still on his arm (why hadn't it dropped when he sat up?) and there was more of her hair through his fingers. He tilted his head, slightly, and she abruptly stopped talking when his lips brushed her jaw. The hand holding his arm tightened its grip. "Good night, Jill," he said, hastily rising.

He thought he heard a soft "Good night, Haar" as he closed the door.

"_Commander..."_

"_Don't be a fool, Haar. You're my second-in-command for a reason. Use your head."_

He hardly spoke to anyone as he transported cargo the following day, and there was more than one occasion that he almost delivered to the wrong location. Thank the goddess for his wyvern—he seemed to know what was going on more than Haar did. It was a relief when all the day's shipments had been delivered, but he was ready to go home yet. Instead, he parked his wyvern by the chapel and went inside. He was in no mood to visit the cemetery, but maybe prayers would be okay.

He stared up at the shrine of Ashunera. It still felt strange seeing her there; it wasn't that long ago that the space was occupied by Ashera. So many things had changed. So many of Her rules had been nullified. What was right anymore? Haar suspected he should start attending chapel regularly, but that would mean getting out of bed earlier on his day off. _It's a small sacrifice, I guess_. He sat in the front pew, looking up at the goddess's serene face.

"_Inside_ the chapel? I thought I'd never see the day." He hadn't heard the front doors open, but he listened to Jill's footsteps as she came down the aisle. When she sat beside him, she immediately reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. He didn't have the strength or the motivation to pull away. "I saw your beastie out back," she said, before he could ask. "Talk to me."

He stared at their intertwined hands. "I can't even ask your father..." He shook his head. "I watched you grow up, Jill. I used to change your diapers, for goodness sake."

"Actually, according to my father, you could never get them back on. So it doesn't count."

He snickered, but it wasn't enough to keep the solemnity from his face. "And you don't think that's weird?"

"Haar, look at me." She dropped his hand and sat sideways on the pew, and she wouldn't speak again until he did the same. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

"I know that."

"So stop acting like I am, okay?"

"Do you even know what you're saying?" He stared at the floor but she placed a finger on his jaw, pushing his face back toward her. There was a fire in those eyes, an intensity he remembered from the wars. But it wasn't about getting her way, not like it was when she was a kid. She was fighting with him to understand her, but she couldn't possibly know just how much he understood. How he had _always_ understood.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." She kissed his cheek, but it wasn't anything like the brief kiss he gave her the previous night: It was forceful and spent. She leaned her forehead on his temple, pressing against the strap of his eye patch. He saw only a wisp of red hair in his peripheral vision before it disappeared, Jill rushing back down the aisle.

"Hang on." She stopped, but didn't turn. Her shoulders tensed; she squeezed her hands into fists at her sides. But he hadn't planned on what to say after calling out. He just knew that he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to be alone in the empty chapel.

"You're an idiot," she said, shaking her head, her ponytail whipping across her back. "If you don't know by now that I love you, you really are an idiot."

"Of course I _know_, Jill," he said. "But—"

"Just leave me alone." She disappeared before he had finished standing up.

He hung his head, defeated, then lied down across the pew. The shrine of Ashunera smiled down at him, as if comforting him. He flung an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight. _If you don't know by now..._

His wyvern was howling behind the chapel. Haar yawned. He knew that he should go home, that the creature was complaining that he was taking so long inside. The chapel was dark. He had no idea what time it was.

Haar stumbled outside as he rubbed the sleep from his eye. When he rounded the building, he was surprised to see that his wyvern wasn't alone. _You tricky beast_, he thought, approaching the sleeping figure at its wing.

It was a lifetime ago that he had watched Jill sleep. The night air was cold, and she was curled on the ground with her legs tucked into her chest. Her hair was loose, spilling over her body like a blanket. He sat beside her and cupped the back of her head.

Jill nuzzled his arm, emitting a soft groan. He hadn't meant to wake her—he would have been happy just sitting there, watching. But she opened her eyes, slowly, like she was unsure what she was doing, or where she was. Still, she didn't move when he stroked the back of her neck, when he traced her jawline with his thumb. "C'mon, let's go home," he whispered. She nodded sleepily. The wyvern grunted. "You go home, too," Haar said. "I'll take it from here." Instead, the beast lied his head on the ground and tucked in his wings.

Jill smiled. "Like master, like beastie."

She held his hand on the walk home, which was an improvement, even if she wouldn't look at him. But he constantly glanced down at her. How did she manage all that hair? He wanted to feel it slide through his fingers again. He opened the front door, stepping aside so she could enter first.

"I'm sorry," he said. Jill stopped just outside her bedroom door. "I _am_ an idiot."

"I know." Her hand gripped the door handle, but she didn't push it open.

"Jill, do you want..." She glanced over her shoulder. "Please stay with me tonight."

He thought she would have hesitated, but she had slid under the blanket like she already belonged there. Jill fell asleep long before he did. Haar hadn't expected anything to happen—he hadn't _wanted_ it—he just wanted his arm around her, he wanted to feel her head nuzzled against his chest. He combed his fingers through her hair, fascinated that no matter how far he stretched his arm, he couldn't reach the ends. As he traced circles on her shoulder, staring at the curved shape of her body beneath the blanket, he was struck by a new sensation: He didn't want to sleep.

But there was no resisting a man's natural urges.

Per the norm, Jill left long before Haar woke the next day. It was just as well. He wasn't sure how he would face her, how he wouldn't see her father staring back at him. But the right side of the bed felt cold. He spied a strand of long, red hair on the pillow. He didn't brush it off.

The day progressed slowly. His wyvern was irritable as they traveled from one side of Talrega to the other, twice over. The town wasn't even that _big_, and the beast complained whenever Haar strapped on another parcel. "Will you cut it out?" he muttered, climbing onto his back. "Come on."

But it wasn't the first time they shared the same mood. Haar tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but all he wanted to do was go home. At the same time, he was too anxious to face her.

He decided to take a small detour. It had been ages since he and his beast had done anything besides cargo transport, and they both needed to stretch their wings. He felt the tension ease as they flew higher, far above Talrega, breaking through the clouds. A fine mist sprinkled his face. "You don't mind if I take a quick nap, do you buddy?" His wyvern grunted in approval. At least, that's how he took it.

"Ow. _Ow_." Something was jabbing him in the thigh. He opened an eye, peering down at the tip of a spear.

"Only you could fall asleep _while flying_." He smirked as he sat up, staring at her. Her hair flew wildly around her face, its color blending with the setting sun. Her posture was impeccable, even with the heavy spear balanced in one hand. He dodged another of her attacks, pulling his beast away as she tried to prod his thigh again.

"You know that _hurts_," he said, rubbing his leg.

"Race you to that overlook," she said, pointing the spear at a distant mountain.

His reply was only pulling at the reins, and he felt the shudder of his beast's body as it let out an angry growl. "Don't let me down, boy," he mumbled, bending low over his neck. He laughed at Jill's cries of cheating as they bolted off. His hair smacked his forehead, the wind burning his exposed skin as he whipped the reins. He glanced over his shoulder. Jill was a blur of green as she tried to catch up.

His wyvern skidded to a stop when they reached the overlook and he slid off, laughing as he stroked the beast's neck. "Now that's my boy."

"You didn't wait for me to say _go_," Jill said, hovering over the cliff. "That shouldn't count as a win."

"C'mon, Jill. You've fought enough battles to know the rules."

"_What_ rules?" She asked, but she smiled. She swung a leg over her wyvern, preparing to drop down before landing, and Haar stood below to catch her. She slid into his open arms, holding onto his shoulders long after her feet touched the ground.

She sauntered to the edge of the overlook, sitting on the ledge. The ground was dangerously far below, but they were unconcerned with two wyverns keeping guard behind them. Haar sat down beside her.

"You can only sit here if you don't fall asleep," she said, stretching her body over the open air. He put an arm across her torso to push her back.

"I have control over my napping, you know."

"Could've fooled me."

Haar watched Talrega in the distance, a speck of activity on the landscape. Tiny people were bustling in the streets, one last thing before nightfall: visiting a friend, or gathering water, or rounding up the livestock. The chapel's steeple was like a beacon, the sunset glinting off its spire. Scanning the cemetery, even from this distance, he knew exactly which marker bore Shiharam's name.

"We'll always live under his shadow, won't we?" he said.

"I wouldn't call it a shadow," Jill replied. "He'll always be a part of us, but he would've wanted us to live our own lives. That's why you came to Daein, wasn't it?"

"That's right."

She kicked her heels against the ledge, and tiny pebbles tumbled down its surface. "What was Begnion like? I don't remember it at all."

Haar shrugged nonchalantly. "You saw it in the wars. It was a lot like that, except they were more secretive about it. Your father was right to leave. We would've hated it."

"You and my father, or you and me?"

He paused. "All of us."

It felt good, talking about him. And for the first time in years, Jill wanted to hear the stories. He recalled their early days in Daein, the way Jill used to cling to him. ("I did not!" she said, laughing.) The way her father doted on her, letting her ride a wyvern by herself long before she should have. ("At least you didn't fall off.") How Shiharam felt it best that, when Jill joined the platoon, she work only under Captain Haar. ("Was that _really_ my father's preference, or mine?") They watched the sun set over the hills, Jill laughing at his tales, Haar freely sharing them. Letting them go.

"Daein really is a beautiful country, isn't it?" she said, watching the last sliver of orange disappear over the horizon. "Why don't we come up here more often?"

"It interrupts my naps." She playfully smacked his thigh.

Haar took her hand, sliding his fingers in between hers. She lifted her head as a flock of hawks passed overhead. No matter how much time passed, he was still surprised when laguz crossed over their country. But things had changed, had they not? They lived in an era where beorc and laguz could interact, where order and chaos were as balanced as they were going to be. And yet...

"Marry me, Jill."

He felt her surprise through his fingers: Her body stiffened, her feet stopped kicking the ledge. But then she smirked. This was not the reaction he had hoped for. "What took you so long?"

He inhaled deeply, held it in, then released it slowly. "Anxiety. Fear. Name it."

"All this time?"

He nodded.

Haar closed his eye when her fingertips brushed down his cheek, his nose, his lips. He rested his forehead against hers, her hand crawling to the back of his neck. "You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"

"No."

He felt her breath on his mouth and he knew; he knew he'd needed this for years; he knew he had been a fool to wait. This feeling had first stirred during the last war, when his chest ached to see her fight for the other side, when he pleaded for her to join him. _Come with me, Jill_. He meant it then; he meant it now. Her lips pressed against his—_finally_—and he grabbed her around her waist, and he couldn't calm the furious beat of his heart.

It was over too quickly.

"Is that a yes?" he asked, and she laughed as she pulled him closer, burying her face in his neck.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled and damp against his skin.

He looked out over Talrega. It was by chance that they settled there; it was the wicked plot of a wicked ruler to dispose of them. But in the end, hadn't they been happy? They made it their home. Despite the wars, despite his extended absences, this was his home, too. Shiharam knew it, and he was only beginning to feel it himself.

Jill pulled away and he kissing her temple, a breeze fluttering over them. Her fingers looped through his belt. After all they had been through, it wasn't over. It was far from over.


End file.
